Piano Hands
by disamphigory
Summary: Hermione’s fingers really were delicate and perfect and her skin was so soft Ron resented this. Why were Hermione’s hands allowed to be so soft? But no, her hands were perfect. Perfect piano hands.


Piano Hands

The library was exactly where Hermione seemed to belong, Ron thought, watching the object of his musings bend over a book in the Hogwarts Library. The sun was just peaking in through the window on the far side of the library, and Ron idly noticed that Hermione was beautiful. Not that this was a new idea or anything; Ron had been noticing that Hermione was beautiful ever since fourth year. He couldn't decide _why_ she was so beautiful, though. Her hair was everywhere, a pile of unruly brown on top of a too-pale face with brown, doe-eyes. Her school uniform shirt did not fit as snugly as Lavender's did, and the bags underneath her eyes—too much work, Ron thought—were clearly seen. Ron didn't think she wore make-up. That would be weird. This was _Hermione_, after all.

Hermione flipped a page of her book and tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. Ron watched her hand move, fascinated. Her fingers were so delicate…He wondered if she played the piano. He'd never thought to ask. He pondered the idea of asking her that question. If he did, he'd get to hear her speak again. But then, if he did, she might notice that he hadn't been doing his homework, and yell at him for it. And no matter how pretty Hermione looked when she was angry, all pink and her eyes fierce, Ron didn't feel like having another argument. Ron lapsed into a semi-day dream about how much he'd love to have her face blush for a _different_ reason when around him.

He came out of his daze when he heard the voices of angels—well, Hermione, but still…she had a pretty voice. Ron wondered, too, if she ever sang. She wasn't in the choir at Hogwarts, but Ron doubted she would have enough time anyway. "Ron." Hermione had said.

Ron realized about five seconds later that he should respond. "Yeah?"

"Ron, have you reached question number 9? Because I'm not sure that I really understand the concept behind the fermentation of the Japanese _Miso_ root in the mixture with the _izunami_ leaf, does the leaf soften or what? Ron…"

Ron had phased out after "number 9." He knew that this was one of the rare times that Hermione didn't understand something, and that, by all rights, he should be teasing her for that, but he was distracted by her lips moving as she talked. They really were perfect, he thought. Perfect and pink and slightly chapped and in a perfect bow shape. He watched as she stopped talking and bit her lip uncertainly. That just wasn't fair to the lip, really. It probably needed some reassurance that _some_ people lov—liked it…Hermione looked very kissable to Ron at that moment.

"Ron…?"

"Wha—oh. Yeah. Right…number 9…err…" Ron upset a few papers looking for the packet that Hermione seemed to be working on. A few bits of parchment fluttered to the floor, creating swirls in the dust motes in the air of the still library. Ron leaned down to pick them up; his ears felt like they'd just been wrapped in one of Floburt's Heat-for-all-seasons-hand-warmer-packs. When he returned to the top of the table, it was to Hermione looking critically over the packet he'd been trying to find.

She frowned. Ron winced in anticipation of a tirade about his laziness, _laizze-faire_ attitude toward schoolwork, and how-did-he-expect-to-be-an-Auror-with-these-grades…She firmly put the packet down and looked at him. Ron winced again, but this time on the inside; he couldn't let Hermione know that she made him that scared. It just wasn't manly. "Ron, you haven't even finished through question four! That's where you were an hour ago! What could you have possibly been doing—"

"—Do you play piano?" Ron blurted out, thankful that one, he could shut her up, and two, that he had asked his question.

Hermione stopped in her rant. "What did you say?"

Ron hesitated before asking again, "I said, Do you play piano?"

Hermione stared at him for a long time and replied, "Why do you ask that, Ron?"

Ron's ears began to burn again. "Well…er…you see, I was just sorta'---looking around, you see, and then I noticed that you…that you…er…had hands that…er…seemed like they would be right for, you know…er…playing piano. So I asked and…yeah." He finished lamely.

Hermione gave him an odd look, like she had just realized something. "Yes…" she said slowly, "Yes, I do play a bit."

Ron was confused as to why she was answering so hesitantly, and decided to bludgeon his way through tact, again, and asked abruptly, "How long, then? Are you any good?"

She glanced down at her hands, then up at Ron, and then put her hands in her lap. "I—I suppose I have some…some skill. I guess. I _have_ been playing for over ten years, since I was six."

"Why don't you play at Hogwarts, then?"

Hermione looked puzzled. "I—I do. There's an old music classroom with a piano in it on the fifth floor that I go to occasionally."

Ron leaned forward, a bit annoyed. "Why haven't you told Harry and me? Aren't we good enough to listen to the great Hermione, then?"

Hermione looked startled and protested, "No! No…Ron…I just didn't think that it mattered that much. What with Harry and V-Voldemort and schoolwork and quidditch, it just didn't seem to have much importance, whether or not I played an instrument. That's all."

"Oh."

Her voice was very soft as she echoed him a second later, "Oh."

A long paused ensued, in which Hermione looked down at the parchment on the table. Ron gazed at Hermione's hands, which had returned to the top of the table and were flipping a quill over and over. Ron reached out quickly and covered both her hands with one of his own, and, at her startled gaze flew up to his, he asked quietly, "Do you have a favorite song, Hermione?"

"To play?"

He nodded, not moving his hand. Hermione's fingers really were delicate and perfect and her skin was so _soft_; Ron resented this. Why were Hermione's hands allowed to be so soft? She toted books around all day! Surely she must have some calluses or something…but no, her hands were perfect. Perfect piano hands.

"Hmm…" She bit her lip again. Ron vowed that sometime in his life he'd soothe that poor lip, abused as it was. "I guess I really like to play Pachabel's Canon in D. Have—Have you heard it?"

Ron shook his head and Hermione's gaze returned to the tabletop and Ron removed his hand. Ron watched as another strand of hair came loose from

Hermione's bun and fell, floating, to dangle in front of her eye. She made a motion to grab it away, but Ron moved quickly and gently tucked the hair behind her ear. Hermione's hand followed his, and pulled it more securely in place. She looked up at him and smiled softly.

Ron, his confidence emboldened by her smile, said in a garbled mess, "Wouldyouplaythesongformesometime?"

"What?" Hermione looked completely confused.

Ron took a breath and again felt his ears burn—he was sure they must have steam coming out of them now. "I said, Would you ever…you know…play the song, that Parkleball one about the Cannons, that song…would you ever play it for me? I mean, with you playing and me listening?"

Hermione smiled and looked into his eyes a long time before replying softly, "Okay." Ron grinned. "But only after you do this packet; it's due in two days, Ron."

Ron looked from her hands to the packet and to her hands, and then to the packet…and sighed and picked up his quill. "Okay…question nine, right?"

Hermione smiled at him and returned to her packet. "Yes, Ron."


End file.
